


Halter Hitch

by Tridraconeus



Series: Pest Control [2]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Worship, Crossfaction, Enemies With Benefits, Fingering, Light D/s, M/M, Manhandling, Size Difference, Unnegotiated Kink, petting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24900289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tridraconeus/pseuds/Tridraconeus
Summary: Jake moves a fraction of a second too late and is punished immediately by Evan’s hand gripping him tightly by the back of his neck like he’s a stray kitten. He expects to be lifted off of the ground and shaken like one, too, but instead Evan’s foot firmly presses the small of his back and Evan pushesdown, bending him, kneeling next to him and forcing his face to the ground next to the ruined trap so he’s looking at it. It’s as close to rubbing his face in his handiwork— again, like he’s a disobedient pet being shown the mess he’s made— as Evan can get without tearing his face to ribbons.“Come back for more, haven’t you,” Evan growls in his ear. Jake squirms, pressing his palms to the ground; he’s trapped. The cold concrete does not budge, and neither does the solid mass of Evan on top of him. Evan’s hand moves upward to tangle in his hair and tug him back. His scalp prickles and aches with the uncaring pull and he braces, breathes out hard to keep from making a sound, and does not fight.
Relationships: Evan MacMillan | The Trapper/Jake Park
Series: Pest Control [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1768081
Comments: 8
Kudos: 102





	Halter Hitch

**Author's Note:**

> no I will not stop pushing my parkmillan agenda. no you cannot stop me.  
> edit: fixed missing italics. this is why we beta. sorry everyone.

He’s kneeling by a trap when Evan stumbles upon him next. He’d been very purposeful in his destruction; a trail, almost, of neatly-dismantled traps. Being caught is clumsy of him. 

Clumsy and purposeful, as the both of them know, and Evan has not stumbled upon him as much as tracked him. 

Jake moves a fraction of a second too late and is punished immediately by Evan’s hand gripping him tightly by the back of his neck like he’s a stray kitten. He expects to be lifted off of the ground and shaken like one, too, but instead Evan’s foot firmly presses the small of his back and Evan pushes _down_ , bending him, kneeling next to him and forcing his face to the ground next to the ruined trap so he’s looking at it. It’s as close to rubbing his face in his handiwork— again, like he’s a disobedient pet being shown the mess he’s made— as Evan can get without tearing his face to ribbons.

“Come back for more, haven’t you,” Evan growls in his ear. Jake squirms, pressing his palms to the ground; he’s trapped. The cold concrete does not budge, and neither does the solid mass of Evan on top of him. Evan’s hand moves upward to tangle in his hair and tug him back. His scalp prickles and aches with the uncaring pull and he braces, breathes out hard to keep from making a sound, and does not fight. 

“Where would you get your entertainment, if not in making my life difficult. Pest.” Evan’s not even angry this time, or perhaps he _is_ but it’s tempered and cooled down to a frozen, implacable fury that Jake’s learned to fear as much as he admires. Jake hazards to hear ice and goes fully lax. He’s not even supporting himself anymore. Evan’s hand in his hair holds him up. “Nothing to say for yourself?”

He’s angry, yes, but curious— questioning. He’d have stabbed Jake through the gut and tossed him out on his ass by now otherwise. 

Ever since Evan fucking him over the worktable, Jake’s been incapable of getting it out of his mind. The pressure, the pain, the sheer power of Evan behind him. Stumbling back to the fire, blood and come dripping down his legs, so painfully hard that he didn’t even make it the whole way before falling to his knees under the shade of a tree and taking himself in hand.

His breath escapes slowly, barely even making a noise against the concrete. 

Evan grunts. His grip lets up and he rears back to his haunches, grip rearranging to have Jake by the back of his jacket instead, and he slings Jake over his shoulder in the same movement he uses to stand and pivot. His head turns to wayfind, and then they’re heading towards the manor. 

Jake’s belly tightens with anticipation; he’s already getting hard. He’s not yet desperate enough for friction to grind against Evan’s solid chest. Every slight jolt of Evan’s steps nudges Jake’s groin against the buckle of Evan’s waders, nothing but teasing friction, but in his state teasing friction’s all he needs to tip his body from interest to excitement. 

“We’re doing this on _my_ terms this time,” Evan grumbles to Jake, and lowers him. Slides him off of his shoulder when they’ve reached a kitchen area, wide-open with a wooden counter that once held implements now barren. Evan backs him up against it; Jake turns without being asked, without being moved, and almost bends over without Evan having to put him there before he realizes why he’s not being posed though Evan could do so easily. Thoughtlessly, even though nothing Evan does is thoughtless. This, in itself, is chillingly premeditated, and Jake thinks to himself that Evan may have anticipated him _coming back for more_.

Evan feels him up, pats him down with one huge paw. His hands are like boxing gloves; but not, they’re clever and dexterous and still so large he can circle Jake’s thigh thumb-to-index. He finds what he’s looking for in one of Jake’s cargo pockets. Feels the contour of it against his hand, squeezes, flips the pocket up and shoves his hand inside. Jake can feel his warmth past the fabric. Close to his skin. Not on it. Close. _Hot._ His breath hitches and his heart skips and he screws his eyes shut, head bowing until his chin nestles in the fabric of his scarf.

Evan draws out a tube of grease. He turns it over in his hand, humming deep, low approval, and finally crowds Jake against the kitchen counter with the hulking mass of his body and one hand between his shoulder blades to push him down, bend him over. Jake doesn’t fight. His palms settle to the sides, his chest flush with the counter, and he turns his cheek to the cool wood to look at Evan as he screws the cap off one-handed. Jake’s cock responds, twitches in his pants. The sound of the cap unscrewing doesn’t make his dick hard.

Evan’s breathing does that. It tightens. It’s deadly focus; when Jake is near but he can’t find him. When there’s disturbed groundcover and no other trace. Evan’s on the hunt. 

_Or the hunt’s over_ , Jake’s mind whispers traitorously to him, _and Evan’s going in for the kill._

Evan grunts behind him and suddenly the tube’s on the counter by his head and large hands are rucking up his trail jacket, the light vest underneath, the gray shirt, until they’re being wrestled off of him and dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Evan’s hand lays flat over his back again. Jake is aware he loses mass with his clothes off; Evan’s palm is massive, heavy, radiating heat from where it’s pressed between his shoulder blades. The other hand tugs his pants down and patiently settles on his hip as he kicks his shoes off, then his pants and underwear. 

Evan wants him naked. 

Once he’s fully stripped Evan picks up the tube of grease again, squeezes out a little on his fingers, and nudges Jake’s hole apart. One blunt finger simply circles his rim, cold lubrication warming up gradually on contact with hot skin, and by the time he pushes his finger inside Jake’s arching his back into it-- eager for him to move. There’s no point in _hurrying_ Evan, especially when he’s _in_ no hurry and won’t be moved. Jake stretches his arms out across the counter and twitches his hips; Evan responds by gripping him, holding him still, and his voice echoes in the back of Jake’s head. They’re doing this on _his_ terms. 

He huffs and slumps, submits to being stretched open excruciatingly slowly, and it’s only when he stops trying to get Evan to speed up does he move on. He adds another finger, crooks and curls them until Jake’s rising up on his tiptoes in response to the sensations, and he’s just barely gotten used to that before they’re gone and he’s curling his back into the now-absent stimulation.

A moment, Evan giving a heavy sigh, the sound of buckles from behind. Evan’s hand on his hip. Jake holds obediently still-- he knows Evan will pause if he’s too _needy_ , too demanding, and though it rankles to bow to what Evan wants it’s the only way to get what _he_ wants-- and breathes out slowly when Evan’s cock-- _slowly_ \-- sinks into him to the hilt. 

He tentatively rocks his hips into the sensation of fullness. He’s allowed to do that, at least, breathes steadily as he adjusts to the stretch. Evan gives him a few long seconds before he starts to move. 

With slick, the sensation is so much better; the slide is easier, and he’s not in any pain at all. It’s sharply at odds with the _first_ time he’d gotten fucked by Evan. 

Funny, then, how _his_ terms end with him torn up and when Evan has his way he’s not even sore. The stretch burns, but it’s pleasing, makes his blood race. Evan fucks him with the whole length of his cock, pulls out almost all the way before sinking back into him. Jake closes his eyes again and digs his cheek into the wood. It’s good. It’s good, but it’s slow, and he wants more.

Any second now. Any second. He’s going to speed up, and it’s going to hurt; or he’s going to yank Jake’s hair again. Rake his trimmed nails down Jake’s back. Do something painful and cruel to remind Jake that he’s only not a bleeding, weeping mass of flesh because Evan has so graciously allowed him to remain unharmed. 

As sharply as he anticipates sudden, punitive pain, he’s burning up with need for more. More friction, more speed, more of Evan’s massive cock pounding into him until he can’t think of anything except how filthy and used he is. Urging Evan will do _nothing—_ this is on _his_ terms. Jake’s still not sure what _his terms_ are, only that right now they’re slow and torturous. The constant drag, a steady, unhurried in-out against his walls, is almost enough. Jake swears he can feel Evan’s cock all the way in his belly like Evan’s massive length is rearranging his guts. Maybe it is, he thinks as the angle intensifies. Evan’s pulled him down a bit with one hand on his hip, handling him by the jut of bone. It makes sparks fly behind his closed eyes, warmth curl in his groin. He almost whines at the loss as Evan’s hand slides from his hip to his shoulder blades, fingers digging into the flesh there. It’s barely enough to hurt, just constant pressure, and even that lets up within the span of a few seconds. A single instroke. Out. 

Lighter pressure down his back; skin, callouses, workman’s hands. Following the arch of his spine down to the modest curve of his ass. Middle finger gliding over the knobs of his spine.

Repeating.

Evan’s _petting_ him. 

The realization makes him feel cold, and amused, and then terribly hot and prickling all over, his cheeks and ears all the way down to his chest, and as Evan’s hand strokes down his back for the fourth slow, leisurely time he gasps and comes. 

Jake’s never spared much thought to Evan’s immense patience and self-control because for the most part he’s never had to; it’s never concerned him. Evan hilts himself fully and past the mask Jake hears a husky, rasping groan. Evan’s hand settles on his shoulder, fingers curled over and squeezing him just tightly enough that he _feels_ it, and his thumb traces slow circles on Jake’s shoulder blade until he’s finished spending himself in Jake’s lax, pliant body. Jake’s legs shake the slightest bit from the effort of holding himself up. Evan sighs, a gust of air that Jake feels on his back, and returns to petting him for a few long moments until he takes a step back enough for his cock to fall. A hand travels down; parts him, examines the lazy trail of seed trickling from his hole. 

Evan gives him a light pat on the flank and steps away even further. He pulls up his waders, sets himself to rights, and even though Jake’s not looking he can’t feel the almost physical weight of Evan’s attention on him anymore. Jake folds his arms and tucks his face in them. He’s still red, and still panting-- when did he start panting?-- and his hole barely even stings with how slow and careful Evan had been. His back and hip prickle from where he’d been petted. 

He’s aware, of course, that he’s still draped over Evan’s kitchen counter with his legs shaking and come dripping down his legs and it’s been upwards of a minute now, but he feels so warm and sated that movement is a distant thought at best. Evan’s attention falls on him again.

It’s cold, now, appraising and critical like what Jake’s used to. 

“Get out of my house.” 

Jake slowly pushes his chest off of the counter with his palms. His clothes are on the floor; he kneels to collect them, notes Evan’s heavy gaze on his bowed back, but it’s gone within the moment and he’s left with similarly heavy footsteps as Evan leaves him there. 

**Author's Note:**

> anyone who guesses why I titled this what I did gets a cookie!  
> Comments and kudos are all greatly appreciated-- they make my day and I love hearing what people think!


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